CHAPTER III
That same night the monk, Richard Englefield, lay upon his pallet inhis cell at Silver Cross. The moon shone in at the small window. Hewas addressed to observing with his mind’s eye a round of other placesupon which she shone. The grange where he had been born and had spentchildhood and somewhat of boyhood, rose softly. The mill water caughtlight, the gable end of the house stood, a figure like a silver shieldenlarged,--shield of Arthur, shield of Tristram, shield of an oldenchanter! The fields spread in moonlight where he worked. He smelledthe upturned clods and the springing corn, and he smelled the serefields under October moon. The moon shone on the town, that was notMiddle Forest, where he had been apprenticed to a worker in gold. Themoon made the roofs that mounted with their windows, and the plasteredhouse with the criss-cross of timbers, into a rood screen for a giant’schurch. Beyond lay the sea, and the moon made for herself a path acrossthat.
Stella Maris--
The sea under moon. He had been across the sea, to France and toItaly, but that was after the rood-screen town. It was when he hadbecome a master workman, a skilled goldsmith, working for princes,working as an artist works, and when he had come to books--to books--tobooks.--The moon on the sea, on the coasts of Italy!
The moon on the graves of kindred and friends,--the cold moon. The moonabove weariness and sighing--nights unsleeping, walkings abroad--plansspun and plans torn apart and shredded to the winds. The moon uponsins, the moon upon sorrows.
The moon shining down on the sea, on the coasts of Italy!
The moon upon the hours after work, when he read by the candle, when heput it out and looked upon the night.--Moonlight streaming in at theold room’s window, the window so high in the high roof of the tall, oldhouse.
Thought and thought and thought!--Conviction that there was someadventure--
Warfare, warring and sinning, lusting. Pride that beset him. Pride ofbeing proud. Very love of self-love. Very care of self-care. Self!
The moon on the coasts of Italy!
Men he had known, out of many men, and talk with them. The old priest.
The moon on the coasts of Italy!
The old priest.--Illness. Long illness when death’s door had seemed toopen. The priest still. Recovery--and still the priest.
Wickedness again. Self-will and self-laudation. Self! Longing, longingand discontent, and ashes in the mouth. Longing and naught to still it.Not work and not thought!
The priest again. Longing. One thing laid down and another taken up andlaid down. Hunger--hunger and thirst--cold and hunger and thirst. Ifyou were in warm taverns, if you were in palaces, yet cold and hungerand thirst. You must hunt warmth, you must hunt bread, you must huntwater. And when you thought you had found came the snow in at the door,came the harpies and snatched the tables away!
God--Christ and His Mother--heaven. They had the food--the water thatquenched thirst,--the inner fire.
Where were you nearest, nearest?
Work fallen away because he must hunt. Cronies and those whom hethought friends estranged.
Hunt and hunt and hunt. Dig inside, and outside serve--
Where was the outer land that was nearest inner?
God and Christ and His Mother and heaven. They dwelled in the innerthat he was hunting. Holy Church was the nearest land.
The moon on monastery fields--the moon on the coasts of Italy!
The rising moon in the dark wood where he walked and tried to talk toGod and his soul--and at last shut his hands and buried his foreheadupon them against an oak tree, and said, “I become a monk.”
The moon on the garden of herbs, the moon on Silver Cross cemetery.
He had been thirty then, and the dark wood was six years ago.
At first had seemed quenching--but now was cold, hunger and thirstagain!
O God--O Christ--O Star of the Sea, shine forth! Oh, heaven, appear!
The moon on the coasts of Italy!
They were fair, with rock and olive, with gray and creamy and rose-huedtowns, and over the towns sky that was heart of blue, and in the townsItalian life.
He must tell in confession how all that was coming of late to haunthim. When he plunged into these towns the hunger vanished for a time.But it came again. And in his heart he knew that he wished it to come.“O All-Knowledge and All-Beauty, let me not cease to be driven and tobe drawn until I find thee--until I find thee!”
The bell rang for the office of the night. He rose and presently stoodchanting, with his brother monks, in the church of Silver Cross. Thecandles burned, the windows were lead against the starry sky. He knewthe stars that were behind them, he saw them in their clusters.
The candles showed in part the great painting of the Blessed amongwomen. He could piece out here also what they did not show. There wassplendour in the figure and face, a magic of beauty, and he loved it.
The chanting filled the dark hollow of the church.
The Abbot had dispensation from the night office. The sub-prior was inhis place. Moreover, the Abbot was away, having ridden on his whitemule, with attendants, to Middle Forest, to the castle of Montjoy.
The office ended, the cell again and sleep. Dawn. Lauds. Breakfast.The reader for the day reading from the life of a saint. “And an angelcame nightly to his cell and showed him the scenery of heaven and theBlessed moving there. And his brethren began to know of this, for thelight shined out of his cell.”
Brother Richard Englefield did not work in field or garden. He hadworked so for two years. Then Abbot Mark making discoveries, there hadbeen given him a stone room with a furnace, goldsmith’s tools and twoBrothers for helpers. If you had a master maker among your monks wastehim not in digging, sowing, weeding and gathering! Now he made lovelythings for the church, and for the Abbot’s table. He made presents forthe Abbot to send prelates and princes. The Abbot bragged of his work.When great visitors came they were shown him in his smithy.
Not only so, but because he was silent--brown-blond, tall and still,like King David in the picture--and evidently a hunter after God,and scrupulous to do all the Rule demanded, and all that it allowedof austerity supererogative--he had fame as monk. Some of his brethrenwished him well and leaned upon his presence, taking as it were hissunlight, valuing him in and for Silver Cross. Two or three who alsohunted God met him and understood him. Others found in him a reproach,and others were indifferent or secretly laughed. Silver Cross was muchlike the world. Brother Richard continued his struggle and his hunting,under an exterior still as the church, stripped and simple.
Work this day--work on a rich silver salt cellar for the Abbot togive to a bishop. As he worked in his stone room with his hammers andgravers it was coming across him with a breath of mockery--it wascoming with a breath of mockery like a wind from a foggy sea--“Aboveand below the salt at a bishop’s table. Above and below thesalt--Christ’s table. Nicodemus above the salt--blind Bartimeus and thewoman of Samaria below?”
He shook off phantasy. The Abbot was his spiritual father whom hehad undertaken to obey, not criticise. True monk must obey and notquestion,--not question, not doubt, not compare, not judge. Hemust kill Imagination, wagging so. Oh, Truth and Beauty--Truth andBeauty--Truth and Beauty!
The sun on Gethsemane. The sun on the Blessed among women sitting onher doorstep, behind her the sound of the carpenters working.
Sext. The chanting, and the windows ruby and emerald, sapphire andamethyst glass, the glowing patterns, the rows of small figures. Thedark vault of the church and the shafts of gold dust. The cool, thesense of suspension. The great picture burning forth--the Blessed amongwomen!
For long now the picture had taken his heart. She was so glorious--shewas so sure--she was an ardent flame mounting with a golden passionupward! And yet she was tender, compassionate. None might doubt that,looking at her lips and the light and shadow, the modelling, beneaththe eyes. She was so tall--did she turn her head, so and so would bethe exquisite long line of the throat. Almost at times he thought sheturned her head. She was al
ive--splendidly so, with glory. “Blessedamong women--Blessed among women--hold me more fully--take me with youinto heaven--take me--!”
Afternoon and work still. The sun going down. Vespers. The Magnificat.The red-gold light on the picture, uncertain, making her to seem tomove. So would she stand in the round. “Blessed among women--Blessedamong women, I am here, thy child and lover! Make me whole--take mewith thee. Speak, speak to me!”
Night. He did not sleep in the dormitory. There were six cells ofprivilege, established when Abbot Reginald of old had made certainalterations. Brother Oswald who was writing the Chronicle of SilverCross, Brothers Peter and Allen who illuminated the great Psalter,Brother Timothy who had been longest monk of Silver Cross and wasgrowing like a child, Brother Norbert who was the Abbot’s kinsman hadthe five, and Brother Richard who made wealthy things in gold andsilver the sixth. So was not the Rule, but in many things nowadaysabbots modified Rule.
Compline. Night in his cell. “Ah, if the noble and rich visions werebut more real! Ah, if I had the power to move and make move! Ah, if thepicture would become Herself--for me, for me!”